


The Good Son

by hyperius



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Tries, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Protective Bruce Wayne, and they love each other, they are a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperius/pseuds/hyperius
Summary: He only ever wanted to be a son, not a soldier.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 212





	The Good Son

He hurt like a bitch. His ribs ached and his head pounded as if someone was trying to drill into his very skull. He groaned in his suffering as he tried to pry open his eyes and get a look of where he was. He doesn’t remember too much. He knows at one point he was hit with a tire iron, and at another point there was a spray of bullets, but then there were blurry memories and darkness. Now, he’s here with no recollection of what happened, or any idea of where he might be.

Which, frankly, is never a good sign in his line of work.

Jason forced his heavy eyes open, looking around the bleary room he was in. It felt vaguely familiar, but he just can’t put pinpoint why… “Jason!” Oh, the cave. That makes sense. He let himself sag, resignation and a low sizzling of resentment bubbling through his body, “Jason, you’re up!”

There goes his quiet.

He let out another groan when he felt a cool hand against his forehead, “Don’t be like that. You seriously hurt yourself, and you could’ve gotten yourself killed if we didn’t show up,” the voice wasn’t deep enough to be Batman’s, and there was clear concern in his tone, so this is probably Dick: the only openly emotional one of the whole bunch of them.

“Fuck off, Dickie,” his voice was hoarse and raspy, throat burning as he tried to speak. He heard Dick click his tongue before crushed ice was placed into his mouth, immediately quenching the burn. He was so, so thirty, and he wanted more. He must have given some sort of sign, as Dick placed another spoonful of the ice into his mouth.

“Doesn’t look like you want me to fuck off,” Dick let out a little huff of laughter in his attempt to lighten the mood, “Come on, Jay. Why didn’t you call us earlier? We would have helped. We’re family-“ Jason couldn’t stop the snort, no matter how much it hurt. Dick let out a little pained sound, “Jay…”

“Not family,” it still hurt to speak, hurt to look, but he forced his eyes open and tongue moving, “Never were.”

“Don’t say that! We were family,” Dick set down the cup of crushed ice, eyes desperate as he forcefully spoke, “We are a family. Just cause we have our disagreements doesn’t mean we aren’t.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Disagreements? I tried to kill you all, and y’all dumped me in Arkham. That’s not a disagreement.”

“That’s in the past.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” not with the scars that plagued his body, or the pain that lingered from wounds that never healed right - not from the scar on his throat, the one that so perfectly fits a batarang. It doesn’t feel like the past, when every time he walks into the cave he has to see the damned memorial case with his old suit which stands proudly, reminding them all of his worst failure. “A Good Soldier,” it says. A soldier, not a son, nor a brother; no ounce of love shared or shown. It tells Jason everything he needs to know about what was, and what is. Despite the adoption papers signed, despite the lies that came so easily from Bruce’s mouth, he never once loved Jason. He just wanted a foolish boy desperate enough to do anything for an ounce of affection. He just wanted a replacement for the boy who grew wise enough to flee. He wanted a soldier, _A good fucking soldier._

“Jason.”

“Dick,” He scowled, struggling to push himself off the bed, “I’m going. Thanks for the help, or whatever.”

Dick frowned, “You can’t even stand,” he placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, easily stopping his injured brother from moving with a little sigh. He looked up when he heard footsteps, relaxing slightly when he saw Bruce, “B, a little help? Jay is just, he’s being unreasonable,” _again_.

Bruce frowned, removing his cowl as he strode over to his son’s bed, “Jason,” He looked down and his heart broke, just a bit. Despite the bandages, the bruising, the broken bones and the clear pain his son was in, he was still trying to leave. Why? What happened between them that caused so much animosity and resentment? Why can his son not let go of what once was and embrace what could be? Why is he so against rejoining their family? “Stop struggling, you can leave when you’re healed, not a minute before.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Jason snapped, the pain and utter need to leave ridding him of any filters he has left. Normally he’d try to be more civil, but truly, he doesn’t even care. He can’t be bothered to care anymore, anyway. He just doesn’t want to be in the same room of that damned memorial case, and all the reminders that come with it.

“Jason,” Bruce’s tone was heavy with disappointment, as if he was a father scolding his child. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t Jason’s dad, and had no right to act in that manner.

“Shut up!” Jason was breathing heavy, teeth bared in a scowl. If he didn’t hurt so damn much - “You can’t, I’m not your damn son, and I’m not in your little posse of child soldiers any more, so fuck off already! You can’t tell me what to do, and I'm leaving.”

Bruce’s nostril’s flared as he tried to regain his composure. He hates hearing Jason speak to him like this. He hates hearing how Jason rejects their relationship, their love - he hates how Jason refers to himself, and his family. He isn’t, they aren’t, soldiers. Their his sons, whether they want to be or not, “You are my son,” He sat on the edge of Jason’s bed, gripping his hand and refusing to let go when Jason tried to pull away, “You were my son, and you still are my son. I don’t know where this idea of being my child soldier got into your head-“

Jason cut him off with a cruel bark of laughter, tears staining the corner of his eyes as pain and overpowering rage and sorrow overtook him, “Maybe your fucking memorial case?!”

“I, that’s not for you,” Bruce frowned, “I mean it’s for you, but that’s for Robin. A memorial for Robin, of my failure. A reminder to do better. That’s not for _you:_ Jason Todd, my son. it's... It's for Robin.”

“I was Robin! You absolute batshit bitch! I was Robin, and as Robin I died! Jason Todd was Robin, just as Dick was, just as Tim was, just as Damian is! If Robin is your soldier then guess what? We’re your soldiers, not your sons!” _Oh my god_ , Jason doesn’t understand how Bruce can be so disillusioned to not see - not realize, that the mask and the boy are the same people. Maybe he can compartmentalize Batman and Bruce Wayne, but he can’t - shouldn’t - do that to a child.

Bruce stared down at him, contemplating. Jason squirmed beneath the heavy gaze, but Bruce wouldn’t budge. His thoughts pulling him from the present, for just a moment. He could, reluctantly, see Jason’s argument. He separated his life from day and night, but young boys, traumatized boys, don’t have that ability. Not always, at least. Jason was always so happy to be Robin, swore up and down that Robin gave him magic, he probably internalized the identity, so seeing the memorial of his bloody costume, the reminder of his death over and over… it probably hurt. It probably hurt a lot, and then the plaque only added salt to the wound. Bruce thought it was good to remember, though, and thought the reminder of how Robin died - in battlefield and in glory, trying to save a woman who wasn’t worth the blood shed, would honor his memory. He thought the reminder of his failure would also be good for him, as it would push him to better, and stronger, and faster. Thought the reminder would force him to ensure that another tragedy would never happen again. 

Then Jason came back to life, and Bruce never thought how it would affect him.

“So it’s the memorial then?”

“What?”

“The memorial, you don’t want to stay because of that?”

“Yeah, Bruce, but that isn’t the - the fuck?!”

Bruce acted before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it. The memorial meant everything to him, but his son meant even more. He shoved against the glass case, tipping it over and watching as it shattered against the cave floor. A heavy silence followed the crash, and Bruce turned, walking back over to the shocked faces of his sons, Dick's eyes wide and Jason - god, Jason was crying.

“Jason,” he cupped his son’s face in his hands, “You mean everything to me.”

He listened as Jason hiccuped, heart swelling when his boy leaned into his hands, “B?”

He smiled down at his Jaybird, his son, “I haven’t done right by you but,” but he will change, and he will not fail his boy again, “I won’t fail you, my son.” And if that meant making his heart shatter once again, to throw away the memory he held so close to his soul, then so be it. He's not quite ready to move on, but he'll force himself to. For the sake of his son. 

His breath was knocked from him when he felt Dick’s weight join the hug, careful on Jason but not so much on Bruce, “See! I told you you were a part of this family!”

“Shut up, Dickface,” but there was little heat behind Jason's words, and hesitantly, the man rested his head against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce held him close, careful fingers running through Jason’s hair. He knows they have a long way to go, and he knows there will be more arguments and tears, but he can only hope they're (finally) on the right track to being a family again.


End file.
